


Mommy Knows Best - Room for One More

by clairell



Series: Mommy Knows Best [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ABDL, Age Play, Diapers, Fluff, Gen, Headspace, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Little!Bruce, Little!Tony, Mommy!Natasha, Non-Sexual Age Play, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wetting, consensual ageplay, little!Clint, little!steve, nsap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-04-20 14:07:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14262654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairell/pseuds/clairell
Summary: An unexpected guest at the Tower interrupts life for our brand new family-- Mommy!Natasha, and her four little boys, Tony, Steve, Clint, and Bruce.





	1. So This Is How We Came to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I'm back after a few months off! I've spent the last week or so pulling together ideas for a continuation of "Mommy Knows Best" (which you should go read right now, before you read this!). 
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter is a little slow, but it sets up for an exciting (and much longer!) Chapter 2, so no worries. We needed a little set-up.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!!

From above, it looks almost like an _I Spy_ puzzle—an amorphous pile of arms and legs and stuffed animals in a too-small bed.  Tony spoons Bruce, who has his legs wrapped around Clint, who is somehow not suffocating underneath Steve, who has his arm wound around Tony’s waist.  And Natasha is buried in it all somewhere, happily warm under the blanket of her tangled boys.

 _Finding Nemo_ was the movie of choice for a night in.  The big screen turns the whole room a soothing blue.  The once-bouncing boys are now all breathing softly into each other, eyelids quickly drooping.  There are only a few more moments until they’ll all be fast asleep.  JARVIS turns the volume down, dims the lights and draws the blinds.  A soft darkness falls over the room, and then it’s just a waiting game.

Bruce falls first.  One moment he’s fighting to stay awake, and the next, all the control is drained out of his body.  He falls as limp as the blanket draped over the bed, and he breathes free, his little chest rising and falling.

Natasha loves watching him when he’s like this—just how unrestrained he seems in his sleep in comparison to his waking life.  But she remembers a dark night, and a timid knock, and a pair of shuffling feet—she remembers the shame dripping from Bruce’s voice as he told her through the crack between her bedroom door and the doorframe, “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

She remembers the whispering silence that followed, and the words that sort of erupted out of her mouth before she really had the chance to think about what she was saying: “You don’t have to be.”

And he wasn’t, not after that.

 _“You don’t have to be.”_ The words echo in the purple darkness above her.  She feels Steve’s body sort of seize into the fetal position.  He snuffles his face against her side.  He’s asleep, too.

Steve cried a lot, just after New York.  Natasha knew—well, they all knew—and chose not to intervene.  After all, what kind of comfort could she offer to a man who’d recently woken in a different part of space-time than he’d ever known?  Especially with the world no longer ending (immediately, at least) and too much time to sit around and _ache_.

She caught him on accident.

He was sitting in the kitchen on an afternoon the tower was meant to be empty.  Natasha watched from a distance, as is face became overrun with tears and his ankles wrapped childishly around the legs of his chair.

She didn’t intend to stealth-attack him or anything, but quiet as she was, he heard her.  His head snapped around, and they looked at each other, as if for the first time.  And they didn’t _stop_ looking at each other, for at least another beat or two.

Natasha crept closer, as if she was had a jar in one hand and the lid in the other, chasing after a firefly.  She got close enough to kneel down next to him, and she put her hand on his thigh.

“I miss Bucky,” he said.

Natasha had read the file, and she’d been to the museum—she knew who Bucky was to Steve, but she didn’t _know_ him.  But that terrible sad look in Steve’s thunderstorm eyes, it was enough to make her feel like she had.  She almost missed Bucky, too.

She runs her fingertips through his blond hair and watches him sleep.  He’s coiled up into a ball, all of his softer parts hidden by elbows and knees.  It’s a protection position, Natasha realizes, the kind you assume to protect your most vital organs during an attack.  

But he seems almost natural like this.  His lips are lax—smiling, sort of.  He must be in a different time in sleep.

“Goodnight, Mommy,” comes Tony’s soft whisper.  He closes his eyes, but he won’t be asleep for another half hour, at least. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Natasha whispers back, and even in the dark, she can see him smile back.

Tony had come to her.

She was drinking a beer at the bar in the kitchen when Tony walked in behind her.   “You think you could…make me something to eat?” He had asked.  

Natasha had a snarky retort on the tip of her tongue—something along the lines of, “Don’t you have JARVIS configured to do that?”—until she realized that his voice was completely devoid of sarcasm.  She turned around to look at him.  He was all soft in a stretched-out t-shirt and baggy jeans, standing shamefully with his hands stuffed into the back pockets.

She got up and made the poor man a grilled cheese. 

It had always been a feat for Tony to ask for something, especially something like this—something that exposed a vulnerability.  Natasha recognized that Tony had always had these sort of survival tactics he used to keep himself at arm’s length from anyone who dared get close. And now—even now—as he lies still, he lies stiffly.  He won’t let his guard down, even in sleep.

But he’s let Steve wrap his arm around him—so, he’ll get there, Natasha thinks.

Clint is the last of the boys to fall asleep, which Nat knows is an old spy thing.  If you’re the last to fall asleep, you can be at least pretty sure that you can trust everyone else sleeping around you.  And, she supposes, if he finds it safe to fall asleep before her, he must trust her quite a lot.

It would make sense; she remembers the night, not all that long ago, when she found herself taking care of Clint—but not for the first time.  They were partners, so they’d always sort of looked after each other in the field.   Natasha knew it was dangerous to get attached to someone like Clint, especially in their line of work, but it never really stopped her.

New York affected Clint, too—perhaps more than any of them.  He didn’t trust himself around his new teammates, and especially not around Natasha.  So, that’s how she found him that night, scared and trying to take care of himself while grappling with his infantile headspace.  He needed her.  And she came for him.

Clint sleeps like an actual rock, silent and perfectly still.  His eyelids flutter, and his face looks so peaceful.

Natasha leans back, and she feels that familiar rush of warmth swelling in her chest, which, despite the dark, feels quite like the sun rising inside of her.  She inhales, exhales.  She feels at peace.

It’s a sort of peace she never thought she would feel—would _be able_ to feel—until rather recently.  It all—the ageplay, the little family they have, that is—feels something like a guilty pleasure to her.  Selfish, almost.  The peace, the warmth in her chest, it’s like an addiction.  She lives her life in pursuance of that particular sensation.  Her state of utmost peace comes in making others feel at peace, and that can’t be all that bad, she reasons.

After she finally hears Tony’s soft snoring, she lets herself wind down.  She relaxes her shoulders, lets her head fall on her neck, wraps her arms around her boys.  She’s ready for a few good hours of sleep.

Except.

There’s an image that has been nagging at the corner of her vision for a while now.  She knows not to be frightened by it; it doesn’t seem threatening or an immediate danger, and it could almost be ignored, but Natasha is curious.

She turns her head to look at it: a large man peeking through the doorway.  Thor.  Natasha notices the wideness in his eyes as they make momentary eye contact.  Then he disappears, almost as if he’d never been there in the first place.

A dozen questions flood her head, but she’s still calm.  Her fingers find themselves twirling through Bruce’s hair, and her other hand skates gently up and down Clint’s back.  There is no telling what will happen in the morning, what Thor will say or do—but she remembers to breathe. 

Thor hasn’t really left; he sits with his back against the wall in the hallway so he’s not seen.  Little does he know that Natasha can hear his stressed, rattling breath, and his soft movements.

Natasha falls asleep, eventually, after she hears Thor finally shuffle out of the hall.  

Whatever happens, she decides, it’s going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! 
> 
> Please please please follow me on tumblr ( avengersageplay.tumblr.com ) if you haven't already. I reblog fandom stuff. I post updates about fics. We can chit chat. I'll also give you a follow back. :)


	2. A Little at a Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Thor being introduced to the little family, and Fury calling the team in on a mission, the whole dynamic of normal tower life is thrown off-kilter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to post this chapter for you all! I spent a lot of time working it out and getting it right. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

Natasha wakes the next morning as the sun streams in.  Four boys sleep steadily on top of her, golden in the brand new sunlight.  She lets herself come to fully awake slowly—until she remembers the events of the previous night.  The four bodies on top of her suddenly feel that much heavier.

After that, the boys wake up in quick succession.  Clint untangles himself from the knot of bodies and wriggles toward Natasha’s chest.  She holds him close and kisses his forehead gently.  “Good morning, Mommy,” he says, voice still tight with sleep.

Which wakes Tony.  His eyes take a few minutes to open all the way.  He kneads them with his fists, jaw nearly unhinging with a large yawn.  “I want a morning kiss, too,” he whines.  Natasha leans over to peck his cheek.

Steve stirs and reaches out his arms in a rather dramatic stretch, bumping Bruce awake in the process.  Bruce whines a bit, until Nat gives him a kiss on the tip of his nose, turning his frown into a giggly smile.

“Mommy!” Steve pouts.  “I didn’t get a good morning kiss!”  Natasha puts a hand on his cheek and kisses is temple.  His smile blossoms.

Kisses are perhaps the most important part of their morning routine.  It means they’ll get to spend the whole day as Natasha’s little boys—watching cartoons, racing toy cars, running around in circles until they tire themselves out.  It’s a safe feeling.  Reassurance.

Natasha promises she’ll make French toast for breakfast, which coaxes them all out of the bed. They tuck their stuffies under their arms and shuffle down the hall in their footie pajamas, following Natasha like a trail of little ducklings bobbing along behind their mother.

Thor is in the kitchen, poking through the cabinets for something to eat.  He looks up at them all standing in the mouth of the hallway, and it sends the boys into a moment of panic.  Tony, wide-eyed, takes a step back and onto Clint’s toes, which causes Clint to drop his Teddy bear.  Steve folds his arms to try to cover the zipper running up the torso of his pajamas, and Bruce ducks behind Natasha as if he can hide himself behind her.

The look Thor gives is the same as the night before—wide-eyed confusion.  He doesn’t say anything.

In order to avoid adding any more variables to the equation, Natasha corrals the boys up and shoos them toward the living room.  They scatter away, more than a little relieved.  

“I arrived last night,” Thor starts.  “And—”

Natasha nods.  “And you saw us,” she finishes.  “What did you think?”

“It is a game?”

“It’s not a _game_ ,” she says, voice a little quieter.  It is fair that Thor doesn’t understand—she’s honestly not sure if there’s anything even comparable on Asgard, so he has the right to be confused—but she doesn’t want four sets of little ears to overhear.

Thor’s bushy eyebrows creep toward each other.  “They are acting as children.  If it is not a game, what is it?”

“It’s like… role-play,” she comes up with. 

“Like theater?”  He asks, and she shrugs her shoulders.  “For what audience?”

“Just ourselves, I guess,” she says.  “It’s a role-play—like a little family.  I’m the mother and they’re…my little boys.  I take care of them.”  

She punctuates her sentence with her teeth creeping over the edge of her bottom lip.  It’s all so much harder to explain in actual words than she thought it would be, especially to _Thor._

He simply stands there for a moment, towering over her with his arms folded over his chest and his head cocked to the side.  “A family?” He asks, and she nods at him.  “They are not your children.  They are not children at all.”

“Does that matter?”  Natasha sighs.  The confusion in Thor’s eyes is deep, she realizes, and she’s not going to get through to him in just this conversation alone.  “I’m going to make breakfast,” she offers, finally, after they’ve awkwardly avoided eye contact for a few moments.  “Can I make you some, too?”

Thor’s arms tighten across his chest.  “I do not wish to be part of this _family_ ,” he says, the “so-called” part left out, but definitely implied.

And that one hurts, much deeper than Natasha would like to admit.  She holds back a physical cringe and manages a lopsided smile.  “You don’t have to be,” she explains calmly.  “I’m just making breakfast.”

Thor nods.  “Then I will have a portion.”

Nat makes French toast like she’d promised the boys, and with stomachs like Steve’s—and now Thor’s—to feed, she makes almost two loaves of bread worth.

The sweet smell of cinnamon and maple syrup calls the boys back into the kitchen before Natasha does.  Steve pokes his nose around the corner.  “Time for breakfast?” He asks softly.

“Just about.”  Natasha nods toward a stack of plates on the counter.  “Would you mind setting the table for me?”

And Steve’s such a sweet boy, Natasha thinks as she watches him reluctantly enter the kitchen. As tentative of eye contact he maintains with Thor as he does it, he still manages to put a plate and silverware at every spot at the table.  Nat gives him a kiss on the cheek in thanks when he’s finished.  “Go grab your brothers for me, okay?”

A moment later, the boys all enter the kitchen, one sheepishly after the other.  They sit at their usual spots at the table—all except Tony, who stands looking at, but still a good distance away from Thor.

“That's my seat,” he says, pouting.  

Thor, a little startled, silently gets up and moves the seat over.  

Tony a little displeased noise.  “That’s Mommy’s seat.”   He crosses his arms over his chest.  “I always sit next to Mommy at breakfast.” 

So, Thor gets up and moves to the seat on the end of the table, a safe distance of a few chairs away from everyone else.  He observes them as they eat; he takes mental notes of the way Natasha cuts up everyone’s food into small bites, and how they all, except for her, pick it up and eat it with their fingers.  Bruce drowns his plate in a pool of maple syrup, and Clint has the sticky stuff dribbling down his chin.  Tony sits on his knees in his chair to appear taller.  Steve is pretending to feed the stuffed bear he has sitting on his lap—it is all so bizarre to Thor, who’s used to seeing, well, five other adults around here.  Not _this_.

Natasha recognizes the look on Thor’s face as one of Asgardian curiosity, but to a human, his unending glares seem a bit cold.  Needless to say, breakfast is pretty silent.

After they’ve cleaned their plates and Natasha’s wiped all the maple syrup she can out from between their sticky fingers, they scatter off toward the living room again.  This leaves Nat and Thor to do the dishes.

“I will do the washing,” he says, the first word from anyone in about twenty minutes.

It seems like a perfect opportunity to talk with him, so she grabs the towel and offers to dry.

Thor is a mess when he washes the dishes.  His heavy hands splash water all over himself, the walls, and the floor.  Natasha, standing out of the splash zone, wipes down the plates as he hands them to her.  “Why did you come back?” She asks.

Before Thor can answer, a call comes in over comms.  “Director Fury would like to speak with you,” JARVIS says, and even his voice sounds urgent.

Natasha looks to Thor, and he nods.  This is why he’s come back.

“I have been trying to reach you all morning!” Comes Fury’s voice through the speakers.  Natasha smirks a little—she has JARVIS silence all comms until after breakfast.  “Are you there?”

“Yes, sir,” she says.  “What do you need?”

“What do I need!? Romanov!—never mind.  What I _need_ is you all to suit up and prepare for a mission.  We’ve got intel about some Hydra operation in the Andes—I’ll send a brief.  Most important thing is that your asses are on the quinjet by sundown.”  

Natasha’s ears perk up at that.  “Sundown?”

“Yes, sundown.  What part of that didn’t you understand?” 

Her heart rate ticks up.  “Director.  We need more time.”   

“Well, there isn’t more time.  I need your asses on the ground in Peru by nightfall.”

Natasha hesitates.

“We’ll be there,” Thor says, eyes on the ceiling as if Fury was there.  The comm cuts off at that. 

Thor hands Natasha the last wet plate, then gives her a look.  He disappears up to his quarters.

It’s kind of an absolute disaster, Natasha thinks as she dries this last plate.  How is she going to tell the boys?  How is she going to get them into battle-ready headspace in a few hours? She leans against the counter, placing a cool hand against her aching forehead.

Clint barrels into the kitchen in his sock feet, and comes to a sliding stop as Natasha catches him.  He giggles, his smile endless.  “Mommy!  Come see! We made a big fort in the living room!”

So, she lets herself be dragged by the arm into the living room where, naturally, a blanket fort has formed; all the cushions from the couch form the walls, and blankets are carefully draped over the top to create room enough for four big boys to squish inside.  She peeks in, greeted by grins.  Tony holds a flashlight in his lap, Bruce makes a few adjustments to the internal structure as Steve tries to hide a plateful of smuggled cookies.  

Clint squeezes in after them.  “Isn’t it _so_ cool, Mommy? We done it all by ourselves!  And there’s even room for you to come in if you want to!”

“Only if she knows the password,” Tony says firmly.

Steve shakes his head.  “That’s not fair!  She’s _Mommy_.  The password is only so bad guys don’t get in.”

“Yeah,” Bruce says, and then a little quieter, “like Thor.”

Natasha takes a big breath, trying to smile a little.  “Can you boys all come out for a minute?  We need to talk about something.”

The boys do as they’re told.  Mommy’s voice isn’t mean or like an order, but it’s not happy and fun like it usually is.  Something is wrong.  They quietly climb up onto the cushion-less couches and sit on their knees with their feet tucked underneath their bottoms.  Natasha sits on the ottoman between them all.

Steve screws up his mouth.  “Is it about Thor?” He asks. “Because he was scary this morning.”  The other three nod in agreement of that.

Natasha shakes her head.  “No, honey.  No, this is about—I just got a call from Fury, and he needs us all in South America by tonight for a mission.”  There’s a beat of silence.  “I need you all to be big boys for me, okay?  I know this really throws a wrench in the fun day we were going to have, but sometimes we have to do our job.”

She looks up.  Bruce is sniffling softly, forehead wrinkling as he tries to keep himself from really crying.  Natasha sits next to him and pulls him close as he bursts into full on tears.  He sobs into her chest, and she rocks him gently.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.

“I don’t want to be Big Guy,” he says.

“I know, sweetheart.  And you might not have to be—we don’t know how things are going to go.  We won’t go Code Green unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“I wanna be your little guy.”

Natasha’s heart pangs.  She closes her eyes.  “I want that, too, baby.  I’m sorry.”

She hears Tony get up off the couch.  “I’ll come check on you in a few hours,” she says as he makes his way toward the elevator and down to his lab.  Steve follows him, heading up to his room.  And Bruce, once he’s cried himself out, lets Natasha wipe the tears from his cheeks with her sleeve, and he heads for his room, too.

Clint sticks around for a while.  Natasha gets up.  “Just work on getting yourself into a good headspace, okay?” She puts a hand on his shoulder.

He stiffly shrugs it off, and his arms fold over his chest.  “I don’t want to,” he bites back.

“Clint—”

“I don’t wanna go on a stupid mission in stupid South America just because stupid Fury said so.  I don’t wanna go, and I’m not gonna go, and _you can’t make me_!”

Natasha sighs.  “It’s okay to be cranky, Clint,” she says cautiously. “None of us want to go, believe me.  But we have to.  It’s what we signed up for.  And I promise, as soon as we get back, we’ll have all the cuddles you want.”

Clint huffs and walks out.

The rest of the morning goes pretty much just like that; Natasha runs around trying to get ready for the mission, Thor keeps a wide radius, and the boys crankily try to age themselves up.

Natasha makes quick turkey sandwiches for lunch, because there’s no time for anything else.  She has to tell herself not to cut them all up into bitesized chunks, but she deems it appropriate to take a plate down to Tony.  Food is hard for him—little or big.

Sparks are flying as she makes her way into Tony’s lab.  They stop for a second, and Tony yells out, “Fuck!”  Something clatters to the floor.

Natasha comes up on him as he’s holding one hand in the other, pressing down on some kind of wound.  “Are you okay?” She asks, setting down the sandwich on one of the tables.  He doesn’t respond, and she takes his hand away to reveal a bleeding cut.  He winces.

Without saying anything, Natasha reaches for the first aid kit.  She wipes the blood from Tony’s hand, disinfects it, and places a band-aid over it.  “You don’t have to be iron just yet,” she says softly, kissing where she had bandaged up the wound.

Tony looks up at her, a few little tears in his eyes.

“Eat your lunch,” she says, and she heads for the door.

She goes up to Clint’s room to check on him, but he’s not there.  The only place else he could possibly be is the range, which is a good sign.  She finds him there, about fifty arrows deep in perfecting his perfect shot.  The repetition calms him.

“Looking good,” she says, leaning up against one of the lockers.  

It doesn’t scare him; he heard her coming.  He releases another arrow and it splits down the middle of the one already on the bullseye.   “Yeah,” he responds.

Natasha takes a breath.  “You know I wouldn’t keep stuff like this from you guys, right?  I told you all just after I’d heard from Fury.”  Her voice is level.  Not motherly.  Calm, round, gentle.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, a little softer.  “We gotta do our job.”

Natasha smiles a little, the corner of her mouth just tilting up.  “That’s right.”

Clint strings another arrow.  “Did you check on Bruce?  He was pretty upset.”

“That’s the next stop,” she says, turning to go.  She resists the urge to kiss Clint on the forehead as she leaves.

And that in itself is hard for her—the process of getting herself out of her own headspace.  The boys, they have to age up to function properly during battle, but she has to get out of mommy-space simply so she can do the same.  It doesn’t work if she’s baby-talking over comms or crippled with worry about everyone’s safety and not focusing fully on the mission at hand.  Mommy-space is a difficult place for her to work her way out of—probably just as difficult as it is for her boys.

Not _her boys._   They’re just _the team_ , now.

Bruce is in his room.  She knocks on the door, though she normally wouldn’t.  He lets her in.

He’s one leg into a pair of the super-stretch pants that Tony has engineered for him, and he looks up at Natasha like she’s a savior when she comes into the room.

“Mommy?” He asks, eyes full of light. “Do we not have to go anymore?”

Natasha bows her head and shakes it. “I’m sorry.  We still have to go.”

Bruce’s subtle smile falls.  He puts his other leg in his pants and starts to shimmy them up.

“You’re going to wear a diaper?” Natasha asks neutrally, simply making an observation.

Bruce’s cheeks pink a little, but he nods.  “I’m really nervous.”  Which causes accidents for him, Natasha knows, but she’s not going to say that right now.  She just nods.

“We have wheels up in about three hours, just so you know,” she says.

Bruce sighs shakily.  He’s not as little as earlier, but just as scared.  “I don’t wanna go, Mommy.”

Natasha can’t look him in the eye.  He’s probably crying again, and she can’t cuddle him like she wants to, she can’t tell him it’s going to be okay, she can’t just protect him from this.  It breaks her heart.  “I don’t want to, either,” she says.  “But there’s no choice.  To fight the battles no one else can…sometimes we just have to be the kind of people no one else wants to be.”

Bruce nods.  “I guess so.”

“I’ll leave you alone so you can get yourself together, okay?”

Bruce lets her leave, but before she shuts the door behind her he asks, “Can you—can you just put Pinkie on the jet, please? So I can cuddle with her on the way home?” A stuffed pig pokes through the crack in the door, and Natasha takes it.

Natasha takes Pinkie up to where their gear is being loaded onto the jet, and on her way back down, she stops in the living room.  She hears a little noise coming from inside the blanket fort.

“Steve?” She asks, bending down to find that Steve has wedged himself into the back of the fort.  “Hey, you need to come out and be a big boy for me, okay?  I know you’d rather hang out in there, but—”

And just like that, the fort comes toppling down right on top of Steve.  There’s a moment of silence before he tosses back the collapsed blankets and cushions to uncover himself.  He pops up holding his shield and a sad little smile on his face.  “It was holding up the fort,” he says simply, hooking it on his arm.  He’s suited up and ready to go.  “How long have we got?”

“An hour,” Nat tells him, a little shocked by what just happened.  “Do any last-minute preparations and get your stuff up to the helipad.”

Steve nods like she’s given him an order.

By the time the quinjet is airborne, they’re Hawkeye, Captain America, Ironman, Dr. Banner, Black Widow, and Thor—the Avengers.  They slip back into their team dynamic easily enough.

Pinkie watches from the mesh gear hold strapped above them.  Bruce doesn’t take his eye off her the whole flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters, I promise, will deal more fully with this whole Thor situation... 
> 
> Chapter 3 will be up early this week!
> 
> Follow me: avengersageplay.tumblr.com


	3. A Proper Little Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Look who's back!
> 
> Sorry I've been AWOL for the last 6 months, but I finally got my professional life together, which is great, but also meant I have been without time to write, unfortunately. I'll be finishing this story before the end of the year, so check back often for updates!

Wheels up.

There is a relief in Natasha that she cannot name; the fight was drawn-out, but not particularly difficult or dangerous.No one was injured beyond the unavoidable bruises and scrapes.They hadn’t needed a Code Green. _Everyone is alright._ She sighs out all the breath in her lungs.

The Quinjet is on autopilot, and the whooshing sound of pressurized air is almost like white noise in the cabin.The great big sun rises all around them, staining the sky pink and orange and purple.The clouds are pillowy and soft and cotton-candy looking.The thought of battle becomes a memory as they fly toward home.

Thor had elected to fly himself back to the Tower.For the best, probably.

Natasha is tired, so she knows that the boys must be as well.None of them have gotten a wink of sleep in the last 36 hours, and it’s starting to show.

“Mommy, come help with something?”

Bruce looks so soft.His eyes are sweet and round, and his smile is sort of lopsided and all too adorable.Natasha can’t help but scoop him up into a little cuddle before kissing him on the cheek.“What do you need, little bear?”

Bruce points upward to the mesh gear hold strapped above them where something soft and pink peeks out.“Pinkie is up there.Can you reach her?”He yawns.“Please?”

Natasha stands unsteadily on the edge of a seat to reach it, knowing that Bruce could’ve reached it himself without even standing on his toes— but he understands space differently when he’s in his headspace.He thinks he’s smaller, and he almost seems it, too.

She hops down from where she had been standing.“Don’t you ever climb up there,” she says, and hands him his little stuffed pig.

Bruce hugs his pig crushingly tight to his chest.“I won’t, Mommy,” he says, and it earns him a lingering kiss to the forehead.He smiles with his eyes closed.“I’m gonna take a nap, I think.I’m sleepy.”

“That’s probably a good idea, sweetheart.There’s some blankets and pillows in the back if you want to get away from all the noise up here.”

A yawn.“Goodnight.”

“All the noise” is coming from the cockpit, where Clint has hands on the disabled yoke, yanking it this way and that and making zooming sound effects with his mouth.Nat can’t help but laugh.“What on earth are you doing over here?” She asks, smiling.

“I’m flying the jet, Mommy!”There is pure, unadulterated joy on his face.He smiles as wide as his mouth will let him.

“Then I better hang on, hadn’t I?” Natasha jokes, reaching for one of the emergency handholds.

“I’m a really good flyer, I promise!JARVIS even said so!And he told me I could fly the jet, so there!”

“Mr. Barton _is_ an exceptional pilot, Ms. Romanov.Even so, I will have been sure to monitor him to ensure the safety of his passengers.”There is something of a wink in the AI’s voice.

Natasha kisses him on the cheek and Clint jerks his face away.“No time for kissies, Mommy.I’m _flying_ , here.”He makes a loud engine noise and jerks the yoke suddenly to the left—something that would indeed send them into a barrel roll if JARVIS wasn’t piloting the thing.

“Maybe my little pilot should take a little nap,” she suggests, folding her arms over her chest.

Clint makes a sharp noise.“No way!Mommy, I’m _flying the jet_.I can’t just stop!We’ll fall out of the sky!”

“If I may interrupt, Mr. Barton—” JARVIS says, “the flight is a rather straight shot from here until we reach Manhattan.I will put the jet on autopilot until then and wake you when there is assistance needed for the landing.”

Clint considers that.The exhausted part of him must win out—he rubs at his eyes with his fists and jumps down out of his chair.“A _little_ nap,” he says.“And then I gotta wake up so I can land the jet, okay?”

Natasha runs her fingers through his sweaty, dirty hair.“Sounds like a plan.”She points him toward the back of the jet where Bruce is already sound asleep.“Your blanket and your teddy are all ready for you to go lie down.”

He does, hugging Natasha goodnight before he shuffles away.

Steve is leaning on and looking out one of the windows when Natasha comes up.She wraps her arm around him and pulls him closer.He drops his head against her shoulder. “The sky is so pretty,” he says softly, voice sounding half asleep.

“It is very pretty.”

He yawns.“I’m glad the battle is over now,” he says plainly.“And I’m glad nobody got hurt.It’s so scary when somebody gets hurt.”

Natasha kisses the top of his head.“I know it is, sweetheart.But everyone’s alright, now, aren’t we?” Steve nods a little.“So you can calm down, baby.It’s all over now.”

“Hard to calm down.”

Natasha feels for him in moments like these.Steve doesn’t have a hard time transitioning into his little headspace, but he has difficulty leaving his battle headspace behind.Natasha pulls him closer to her chest.“You deserve to relax, sweetheart.”Natasha rubs her hand up and down his back.“You fought so hard, and you did such a good job being a big boy, now it’s time for you to relax, don’t you think?”

“I guess so.” Steve feels lighter.Stress wafts away from him.“I think I wanna go take a nap with Brucie and Clint for a little while.”

“I think that’s exactly what you need right now.”

“But…wake me up if something happens, okay?”

Natasha doesn’t even tell him that she will; she pats him on the bottom and he goes off to get in on the nap puddle with the others.

She goes to Tony last.He has his legs all tucked up into a chair the way a child would have them.He not only looks tired—tired is becoming him.The circles under his eyes are dark and his eyelids seem heavy, and his whole body sort of leans forward.

Natasha kneels down so they’re at eye level.“Are you doing alright sweetheart?

He pores over a StarkPad, eyebrows crunched together.“I’m trying to fix the suit.”

“Something went wrong?” She asks.

“Yeah,” he answers shortly, pulling the StarkPad even closer to his face.

Natasha smiles.“Why don’t you give your eyes a break and go have a little nap with the others?”

Tony simply shakes his head.Natasha watches him for a few minutes as his whole demeanor changes—he suddenly tosses the Pad across and it lands on the floor in a clatter.He sighs sharply in frustration and leans his head back.

“Tony…” Nat says slowly, cautiously.“I think we need to take a break.”

“I can’t, Mommy.I…”Tony tries to speak, but he tears up. He quickly wipes his eyes on the backs of his hands.“I have to finish.”His voice breaks on the last word.

Natasha pulls him into a hug.“Oh, sweetheart.You are one tired little boy, aren’t you?”Reluctantly, Tony nods.“Baby, it’s okay.You don’t have to finish right now.”

Tony sniffles.“Okay,” he gives in, sounding like all the air has gone out of his voice.

Natasha takes his hand and leads him to the back where Steve, Bruce and Clint are asleep all on top of each other.Tony looks up at Natasha, and she smiles encouragingly at him.He drops down to the floor and snuggles up next to Bruce.Nat drops a blanket on top of them and tucks the ends in.

“Mommy?” Clint mumbles as he wakes a little, eyes squinty as he looks up into the light.

Natasha shushes him and raises a finger to her lips.“Go back to sleep, little one,” she says.Clint turns over and closes his eyes again.

Five minutes later, all four boys are snoring softly.

+

It’s not pretty, but it’ll do, Natasha thinks.

She’s managed to make a fort in the cabin of the Quinjet using only the gear on hand—a parachute hangs from the ceiling and drapes around walls made of piled seat cushions and backpacks full of miscellaneous gear.She ties headlamps to the inside for some light, and props a StarkPad with a queue of Disney movies in the corner.

She’s just adding finishing touches to it when she hears the boys stirring in the back.When one of them wakes up, it’s almost always a chain reaction.They come shuffling out looking marginally less exhausted than before.

“Mommy?” Steve asks, looking around for Natasha.

Bruce is instantly nervous about it.“Where’s Mommy?”

Tony kneads his fists into his eyes and points at the large structure in the center of the cabin.“What’s that?”

Meanwhile Clint is already jumping up and down.“It’s a fort!It’s a fort!Mommy made a fort!”

Natasha lifts the flap and peeks out, smiling.Her boys giggle and clap their hands and crash land into the fort, dragging their blankets and stuffies and pillows behind them.They look around at the little hideaway in awe. _Mommy made this?_

“This is so _cool_!” Bruce says, glowing under the soft light of the headlamps, and the others agree, all talking on top of each other.They all glow.They all look golden.

“So you like it, then?” Natasha asks and earns four vehement nods.

They get settled, then; Nat passes around pre-packaged chocolate chip cookies and strawberry juice boxes, and they unanimously elect to watch Winnie the Pooh.

Everyone sort of melts back into a state of comfort; they’re cuddly and giggly and wide-eyed and soft.They snuggle together in a tangled little pile with Natasha in the middle of it somewhere. It’s like it always is.Like how she hopes it will always be.And it’s not all that beautiful, really— everyone is still in their battle clothes and they smell precisely like you’d expect five sweaty bodies to smell after 36 hours of intense combat. They’re still all gritty and grimy and greasy.Natasha loves it.

And how can she not?Bruce’s warm, bright eyes as the cartoon on the screen delights him to laughter.Steve’s protective, brotherly arm draped over Tony’s shoulder which shakes as Tony giggles at Tigger’s jokes.Clint stuffs his face with cookies—so many that Natasha knows he’s just testing to see when she’ll tell him he’s had too many.

But she won’t.He deserves this.They all deserve this.

She has an intense feeling of something wash over her all of a sudden.It’s not just that unnamable sense of relief from before, it’s not just love, it’s not just happiness—it’s like…euphoria.It makes her warm from the very center of her body and she feels it radiate outwards.

Life, she thinks, cannot get any better than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it. Next chapter will be up Saturday or Sunday.
> 
> If you get the chance (and if you're still on tumblr, honestly) go ahead and follow me at avengersageplay@tumblr.com. I'll hit up up with a follow back!
> 
> Thanks!


	4. Not Everyone Can Fall in Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just so you know, this chapter is necessary set-up for the last half of the series. So it may seem a little expository, but I promise much more cuteness to come. Enjoy!

The post-mission bath-and-bed routine is mandatory and non-negotiable.Tony trying to sweet-talk his way around it is pretty much mandatory, too.

“I just gotta do that one quick update on the suit,” Tony says.He sprints off the jet and takes a hard left for the elevators, running to press the button before anyone can catch up to him.“It’ll only take like twenty minutes,” he calls over his shoulder.“And then—”

Suddenly Natasha’s hands are on his shoulders, steering him into the elevator that’s going up instead of down. “Not right now, Tony,” she says gently.“You’re too tired to be working where you could hurt yourself.”

 _Too tired_ is perhaps an understatement; Steve, Clint, and Bruce shuffle onto the elevator after them, shoulders slumped and eyes struggling to stay open, each breath out of them a yawn.And Tony doesn’t really look much better.They’d managed to get that nap in, but missions like these take a lot more out of you than just a couple hours of rest can remedy.

“I just have to fix that one thing—”

Natasha laughs through her nose, smiling a little, but still undoubtedly serious.“You can fix whatever it is later tonight.”

The elevator door opens and Natasha ushers her boys down the hall toward the bathroom, but Tony won’t go down without a fight.He pulls back toward the elevator, but Natasha keeps him planted with a firm grip.

It’s a fun little part of their play, really.If he wanted to be in the lab, he would be there.If Natasha really wanted him to quit whining, he would be on his best behavior.But they both kind of enjoy the banter of it—Tony being difficult, and Nat gently putting him in his place—especially when they’re still coming down from a mission and settling into their headspaces.

Tony’s voice turns whiny.“But the—”

“Tony.”

“—thrusters—”

“That can be fixed some other time, Tony.”She nods her head toward the bathroom door.“Right now you need to get those sweaty clothes off and jump in the bath with Steve.”

Tony folds his arms over his chest, plants his feet, and puckers out his bottom lip.“I don’t want to take a bath with Steve.He takes up all the room and he _smells_.”

Natasha catches a laugh between pursed lips.“We _all_ smell.We’ve been in the same clothes for 36 hours.”Tony rolls his eyes at her and she pretends not to notice.“Which is all the more reason to get them off and get in the tub.”

“Fine," he says finally, stomping off toward the bathroom as if it was his choice all along.

In the bathroom, Natasha helps Steve undress.He’s only recently allowed her to do so; he used to protect his naked body at all costs, but he’s learned not to be ashamed in front of Natasha and his brothers.Nat supposes that it’s symbolic for him, maybe, that Mommy takes the Captain America suit off of her little boy, thereby unzipping him of all super-responsibilities.

She helps him climb into the bathtub so he doesn’t slip.He sits, takes one of the yellow rubber ducks from the shelf, and swirls it around in the water, smiling a sleepy little smile.

Tony is next, but he’s easy to get out of his clothes.He slips out of them quickly and slides into the bath across from Steve.He wrinkles his nose a little.“You smell,” he says, testing a little.

Steve cracks a laugh.He pushes the water and a wave rolls toward Tony.“ _You_ smell.”

“Do not!” Tony splashes a little back.

Steve slaps his hands against the water, sending a spray Tony’s direction.“Do, too!”

Natasha intervenes with the No Tears shampoo before it can get too out of hand.She massages it into their hair until they’re squeaky clean.The water beneath them has turns a lovely shade of dingy gray. 

Clint and Bruce sit in the doorway, little piles of sleepiness, awaiting their turn.

“Alright,” Nat says, getting off her knees and reaching for the towels.“Time for little boys to get out of the tub and into their jammies.”

Tony stands up first, and Natasha wraps him in a big, white fluffy towel.“I wanna wear my rocket ship pajamas,” he says, scrunching up his face as Natasha ruffles a towel through his wet hair.“You know.The ones with the feet.”

“They’re in the top drawer on the right,” Nat says, and pats him on the bottom as he takes off down the hall to finish getting ready for bed.

She holds the towel up for Steve next, who is already standing and sort of shivering, his arms wrapped around his chest.Natasha smiles at him.

His eyes are suddenly very big.

Natasha turns around to see what he’s looking at.

Thor is in the hallway, darkened by the lack of light, but the look on his face is unmistakably one of utter disgust. Clint and Bruce shrink away from him.He is not his friendly, jovial self; there is something cold—nasty, judging—in the way he looks at them.He looks over at Natasha, sets his rigid jaw, then walks off.

Steve crashes into Natasha, forgoing the towel as he buries his face in her shoulder.He whimpers softly at first, then his breathing starts to become erratic.He lets out a loud sob.Nat pulls him closer.

At first, for a moment, Natasha doesn’t know how to react; is he scared?Angry?Sad?Is he just upset because he’s so tired?But in his childlike state, upset _is_ the emotion.It is simply the state of _feeling_.There is no separation into scared or hurt or angry or sad—there are only tears and uncontrollable shaking.

“It’s okay, Stevie,” Bruce says, suddenly next to him and hugging onto him.Natasha thinks this might be the last thing Steve would want when he’s like this—in a fit of tears and still naked—but it…works somehow. 

Steve takes his hands away from his face.Bruce is smiling all big.“It’s okay,” he says again.“Because remember that one time?When I was the Big Guy, and then when I got back to regular size I didn’t have any pants no more?”Steve nods, and the corner of his mouth turns up ever so slightly.Bruce laughs.“It’s funny now, but back then when it happened, I was really upset, too.”

Natasha gets Steve a proper towel and wraps him up tight.“Bruce is right, sweetheart.There’s nothing to cry about.It’s okay.”

Steve sniffles and wipes his face on his towel.“Just ‘mbarrassed,” he hiccups.“And Thor’s _mean._ ”

Natasha sighs.“I’m gonna get Clint and Bruce in the bath and then I’ll go talk to him, okay?”

Steve considers it.He nods.“But after you say goodnight?”

“Of course, little bug,” she says, gives him a little kiss on the forehead, then ushers him down the hall to get a pair of pajamas on.

+

Natasha has unintentionally chosen to have this conversation in one of the boys’ play rooms; Tony’s Legos are strewn about like painful little landmines buried in the fibers of the rug, Bruce has left fake bandages on the imaginary injuries of his stuffed animals, Steve has several picture books open and half-read, and Clint’s Matchbox cars are all upended and on top of each other like a highway pileup.It makes her smile a little.

She closes the door softly behind her.The boys are asleep, now, and it’s best to make sure they stay that way.

She and Thor look each other for longer that would be considered socially acceptable.He looks hard and soft at the same time, she thinks, with his lips turned down into a frown and his whole, large body, towering over her.But there are other things— like the way curls of his hair fall in his face, and how he smells like vanilla shampoo.

She hopes she can get through to him.

“I had not realized that your game was sexual,” he says bluntly, arms folded over his chest.

“It’s not—no.It’s not sexual.It has nothing to do with sex.Just because they didn’t have clothes on doesn’t mean there’s _sex_ involved.”She sighs, thinks of how upset Steve had been.“They were taking a _bath_ for Christ’s sake.”

“Humans are oddly protective of their bodies.They rarely let another see them in the nude, except, perhaps, in the sexual situation.”

It’s an astute observation, Natasha will admit, but one that’s beside the point.She wants to tell him that Steve is more than _a little_ upset that Thor walked in and got a good look at him full-frontal.She wants to tell him that she couldn’t possibly think of her boys as being anything other than _her boys_ —and most definitely not as manipulable sexual objects.She wants to ask him if he knows how hard it is to get four little ones bathed and in bed, especially when they’ve all—herself included—been on their feet for far too long.She wants to _scream_ at him to get it through his head.

Thor waves his hand as if to dismiss every one of these thoughts.“I do not care what it is you all are engaging in.Just know that I do not want any part in it.”

“You said that before” she snaps.

“Then perhaps you should keep it more private so that I do not have to _become_ involved,” he bites back.

Natasha is hurt.She has never known Thor to be like this.He is always so respectful and kind and to-each-their-own. She almost can’t comprehend that this kind of utter revulsion is coming out of his mouth.

“What is _with_ you?”

“I should ask you the same.”

And…This conversation is never truly going to end—or end _well—_ Natasha realizes.She breathes deep.“I think you should move your things to a different floor,” she finds herself saying, her voice sounding kind of wounded.

Thor finds that especially off-putting—they have always congregated on the same common floor when he visits from Asgard.The Tower is so large that to be on separate floors from each other is to feel very far from anyone at all.His thick eyebrows hang heavy over his eyes as they draw together on his forehead.“What?”

“This—” she gestures to the walls around her “—is their only safe space in the world. You’re allowed to not understand it, or not like it, or to feel disgusted by it, but you don’t get to crash land back in here and treat them like that.Treat _my boys_ like that.”

Thor scoffs, looks away.

“I don’t care how you feel about what we do.We are a team, first and foremost, and you owe us some respect.”

“I _cannot_ respect this.”

She pauses, swallows hard.“You should go.”

“Then I will go,” he says. 

And he does.And that is that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it!
> 
> Please follow me at avengersageplay.tumblr.com if you get the chance (and if you're still on tumblr) and I'll give you a follow back.
> 
> Next chapter will be up Wednesday, if not sooner. Have a happy Christmas!


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